


Rain and Feathers and Lightning

by NotTotallyReal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley are both male, Bit of switching though, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley has a praise kink, Eden - Freeform, Fighting, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Looking back in time at their relationship, Marriage Proposal, No smut until chapter 2, Other, Rutting, Semi-Clothed Sex, bit of blasphemy, but it's really more them being angry at themselves, how aziraphale senses love, im sorry i am truly awful at tags, lots of kisses, making fun of romance novels, soft sweet loving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTotallyReal/pseuds/NotTotallyReal
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are Together, with a capital T. And it's wonderful, more than Crowley dared to dream of. Of course, the angel doesn't actually love him romantically, but it's more than enough. Definitley. But when Crowley accidentally mentions this to Aziraphale, the angel is horrified to learn that Crowley believes that Aziraphale can't love him because he's an angel. Aziraphale needs to make Crowley see exactly how much Aziraphale loves him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This chapter traces their relationship from Eden to being Together, from Crowley's point of view. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy it!

Crowley’s always been fascinated with humans. He fancied himself a bit of an expert on them, especially since Aziraphale was much too busy reading to look around. In Eden, where the sun only left to allow the moon to exhibit its brilliance, Crowley felt the most at home since he Fell. He could wander the Garden, curls flaming in the sunlight and silvery in the moonlight, exploring and sleeping and sometimes talking with the strangest angel he’d ever met. 

But he would also slither under some bushes and watch Adam and Eve. They wandered, picking fruit from trees and swimming in ponds, their eyes listless with contentment. They didn’t know anything but this paradise, so they didn’t understand that it was paradise. 

They reminded Crowley too much of the angels in Heaven, all blissful and boring. The angels didn’t know anything but Heaven either. When Crowley sauntered down, he didn’t realize what would happen. He had flames for hair; he was going insane in cold, white Heaven. He wanted to see for himself what Hell was like since he didn’t trust the righteous truth of angels. He thought (stupid angel, stupid demon) that he would be alright, that he could saunter right back up and shake the Hell off him like the flecks of gold floating around Heaven. 

He couldn’t. Once down, he stayed down. 

But, there was a little bit of him that liked being a demon. Crowley had always been a glass-half-full kind of being, and there were definite pluses to demonry. 

For example, he could appreciate the little good things in his life because God knows (if She does, She doesn't seem to care) there aren’t many. Still, Crowley can appreciate the sun on his scales or the smell of dew in the morning. 

Speaking of scales, he hadn’t been a snake in Heaven, rather, a demon intake supervisor took the saunter thing too seriously and made him a snake when he Fell. Crowley still remembers that demon standing over him, gloating, as Crowley’s wings smoked and he kept switching between his human corporation and serpent. Crowley also remembers what that demon tasted like. (Awful mixture of ash, sludge, and snails.)

But, back to the Garden. 

Crowley was downright discontent with Adam and Eve’s ignorant bliss. And the more he thought about it, the more he was (at least a little bit) sure that God wanted them to eat the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. Crowley might not have been a particularly brilliant demon, but even he could see that if someone says “DO NOT EAT THE FRUIT” and then makes the fruit readily accessible, that has got to be a test. Or they want you to eat the damn fruit. In this case, the damned fruit. 

Crowley spent much longer than one would think debating with himself whether or not to tempt them. On one hand, if they stayed in the garden they wouldn’t be happy, but they’d never feel sorrow or pain or anything like that. They wouldn’t die, and they would be safe and warm and loved. 

If they ate it, they would feel sorrow and pain and they would die and they’d never be completely safe and warm and loved again. 

But they could also be happy and grateful and desperately in love despite the odds. They could make the sorrow and pain and death beautiful. These humans would hold tightly to life, holding the sands of time with frantic fingers instead of watching it slip through their hands like water. 

Yes, they’d Fall. But Crowley had, and it’s not so bad once you get used to it. 

There were still shadows of doubt in his mind, but he ignored them. And after 5,000 years, they left altogether. This occurred after a long night of drinking, when Aziraphale was sleepily sitting next to Crowley in a cozy tavern. 

Crowley looked down at his wine, which had made Aziraphale vulnerable enough to rest his head on the demon’s shoulder. And he decided that if he hadn’t tempted them, humans never would have had sorrows they wanted to drown in alcohol so they wouldn’t have invented wine. And if they hadn’t invented wine, Crowley never would have seen Aziraphale sleepily nuzzle Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley finished his cup of wine and finally relaxed. 

But back in the Garden, when Crowley was considering how to tempt them, he noticed something. Adam always followed Eve around with hazy eyes and a soft smile, while Eve sometimes turned back to see if he was still there. That’s why Crowley knew he needed to tempt Eve first, and then she would offer it to Adam. Adam would take anything Eve gave him, but Eve would have protested and considered it more if Adam was the one offering the half-eaten fruit. 

In every human love, the romantic ones especially, there’s always the one who loves more. Always, always, always, there’s one who loves more. The other one loves too, sometimes almost just as much, but it’s not in the same way. Crowley always felt a bit sorry for the ones consumed by their love and hardly ever did real evil to some poor lovestruck bugger. 

It was about 2,000 years later that Crowley realized why. 

They were watching Jesus, side by side. Aziraphale looked so….heartbroken and crestfallen because what he believed in was so ill-received. Fast and painful as a lightning strike, Crowley felt an unbidden urge to hold Aziraphale in his arms, and comfort him, and make it all better. 

He stumbled back in surprise, barely able to stop himself from falling. He choked out, “Sorry, uh, just tripped.”

Inside his thoughts flurried, pieces neatly clicking into place in a way that rarely happened inside his mind. 

Oh no, oh no. He’s in love with that angel. _Fuck._

Crowley dealt with this revelation by making a truly awful excuse (something about having to tempt a fisher into selling rotted fish right this minute) and scrambled far, far away from Aziraphale. He found an inn with a fairly clean and comfortable bed, made sure he wouldn’t be disturbed, and immediately went to sleep. 

He dreamt of Aziraphale. 

_They’re flying over a desert as empty as the wasteland past the Wall. The sun is warm on his feathers as Crowley laughs and dives almost straight down, Aziraphale right behind him. Just before he would hit the ground, Crowley pulls up sharply. But he can sense that Aziraphale is still going so he reaches out an arm to catch the angel. The angel holds the demon’s arm in a warm, tight grip before he lets go._

_Aziraphale grins. “I knew you wouldn’t let me fall,” he says as Crowley flies in ovals around him._

Crowley woke up, breathing hard as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling. He rolled over and closed his eyes again. 

_Aziraphale walks towards him, his white robe fluttering in a wind that smells like apples. “Crawly,” he says, smiling, “I’ve missed you.”_

Crowley opened his eyes and groaned. “I’m not going to dream of Aziraphale,” he told the ceiling. Slowly, he went back to sleep. 

_They’re on the Wall and Aziraphale’s wings are out. It starts raining, and Aziraphale moves to shelter Crowley under a wing. There’s the smell of damp feathers and sweet rain and sharp lightning in the air as Crowley smiles wide at the angel next to him. Aziraphale smiles back, and slowly takes Crowley’s hand in his._

Crowley woke up as he was rolling off the bed. Shouted curses broke the silence of midnight as the demon’s head hid the floor, but from this new position, another option emerged. Beneath the bed was quite clean, and with a snap it was immaculate. Crowley curled up under the bed and whispered, “I am absolutely not going to dream of Aziraphale” to the dirt floor. 

Crowley went to sleep.

_Crowley sprawls indolently atop a welcoming bed of silks. He shifts and finds a warm, sweet-smelling thing next to him, so he throws an arm and a leg over it to keep it close. It smells very good, a bit like clean feathers and lazy rain and sleepy lightning. Crowley opens his eyes._

“Aargh,” Crowley shouted as he struck his head on the underside of the bed. Grumbling, he rolled out from under it and threw himself down on the bed in a dramatic surrender.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Just this once.” 

He doesn't fall asleep right away as he expected. Instead, sleep darts elusively around the room, refusing to join him in the bed. Desperate to sleep, hoping to escape his thoughts, Crowley succumbed to the temptation. He imagined a warmth filling his bones, a body soft and sweet against him, a hand curled around his, a smile against his hair. The demon closed his eyes after a few stray tears slid down his face, and went to sleep. 

_Crowley and Aziraphale are lying under a tree. The air is humid and wraps around them like an embrace. Crowley stops pointing out all the stars he made to turn and smile at the angel beside him._

_“I love you,” he murmurs. Aziraphale smiles and turns to face him._

_“Oh, Crowley,” he says. “I love you too.”_

Crowley spends the next several thousand years trying very hard to hide his feelings. He’s pretty sure it didn’t work, he’s pretty sure he told it to him a hundred ways, a hundred times. A rescue, a confection. A bottle of wine, a too-wide smile. A play, a shiver.

Aziraphale is kind enough not to bring it up. 

Crowley watches the humans, envious and benevolent. It’s so sweet, how they die with their love’s name on their lips. Crowley watches, Crowley learns and Crowley plans his last word to be “Aziraphale.”

Crowley sees how one always loves their lover more than the other. It’s never totally equal. Crowley knows, if he was given the chance, he would be the one who loves too much. He already is. It’s just another thing to think about when he’s drunk and trying to decide whether he’s worse at being an angel or a demon. In his opinion, he’s worse at being a demon. Clearly, She felt differently. 

Now, it’s been a few months since they got Together, together capitalized like the Arrangement. 

And when they got together, it had been several weeks since the Apoca-wahoo-it-didn’t-happen, and Crowley was napping on the couch in Aziraphale’s backroom.

He was dreaming of inventing an incredibly stupid and dangerous new fad, one that stood on the shoulder of the Tide Pod Challenge to reach new heights. These new heights were the piles of corpses. Corpses of people dumb enough to do it. 

It’s a very good fad, and it’s catching on fast, and whenever Crowley tried to pinpoint exactly what it is, he got distracted by cat memes that kept appearing on his feed. Crowley looked up from his phone when he smelled smoke. He was just about to tease the angel about leaving the cooking to the professionals when he realized that the bookshop was burning. 

Crowley woke up and launched himself off the sofa as he shouted, “Aziraphale!!”

Aziraphale came rushing into the room, looking very worried, and suddenly all thought processes left his head with a quiet whoosh. 

Instead, there’s just one thought, spinning very fast around and around and around in his head. 

_Aziraphale-in my arms-safe-NOW_

Crowley lunged at him, swift as a serpent’s strike, and roughly grabbed the angel. He pushed Aziraphale onto the sofa, clambering on top of him as soon as he landed. Crowley framed Aziraphale’s face with his hands, his fingers curling in the angel’s hair.

He kissed him, sweet and possessive and desperate. 

When Aziraphale inhaled sharply against Crowley’s lips, all the demon’s thought processes came back online and concisely summarized the situation by screaming FUCK very loudly. 

Crowley threw himself off of the angel as he tried to determine whether he could get out of there faster as a man or a snake. 

He decided on man and started sprinting towards the door, yelling “Sorry!!!” as he went. Suddenly, the angel appeared in front of him. 

Crowley tried to stop, he really did, but he had too much momentum and he crashed into the angel before stumbling backward. The demon started spluttering an explanation, something about all the alcohol from last night finally hitting him.

He was desperately trying to fix it, hoping that he’ll be able to see the angel again in 100 years instead of 1,000. 

Meanwhile, Aziraphale was staring very intently at Crowley’s lips, not that Crowley noticed, but if he had, he would have seen a very unusual glint in the angel’s eyes. 

Aziraphale stepped forward and asked, “Crowley, were you having another nightmare about the bookshop on fire?”

Crowley nodded mutely, before choking out, “It’s not an excuse to uh, assault you, so really, I’m so sorry, and I should be going, right now in fact, so-”

Aziraphale stepped closer and quietly interrupted, “Stay.”

Crowley stared at the angel before clearing his throat to ask “W-why?”

Aziraphale smiled as he said, “Because I want you to,” like he knew it was all he needed to say.

It was all he needed to say. 

“Oh,” Crowley said. “Alright then.”

Now, it’s been a few months of Aziraphale smiling as he leads Crowley to the bed, so it doesn’t matter that Crowley loves Aziraphale so much it hurts. It doesn't matter that Aziraphale will never love him as he does. Crowley knows that this is what he’s good for, loving Aziraphale. He wasn’t a good demon, wasn’t a good angel, but he’s good to Aziraphale, good for Aziraphale. 

Crowley couldn’t even imagine Aziraphale loving him as Crowley does. He could never be on a pedestal, he couldn’t handle Aziraphale’s constant adoration, he doesn’t deserve it. On his knees, before Aziraphale is where he belongs, the only place he does. 

Aziraphale loves him, but differently, slow and steady and strong, while Crowley loves Aziraphale frantically, desperately, so much that it consumes him. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s a lovely kind of hurt, to know that you belong at his feet. A bit like the scratches or hair pulling Crowley likes. Crowley’s always liked a little pain, liked how it made his world seem right for a moment. Yes, an Angel is loving you, but it hurts, hurts so good, that it is alright. Crowley likes pain, but only the softest, sweetest things for his Angel. And maybe a soft, sweet thing for himself when Aziraphale wants to give it to him. Like right now when he is lying next to Aziraphale as the angel reads his book, the steady turning of pages gently lulling him to sleep. 

Once, when Crowley was curled up just like this, he started thinking about how Aziraphale could sense his love. At first, he viewed it with relief, since he then didn’t have to tell Aziraphale as much if he could feel it. Not that he wouldn’t, but Crowley was never particularly vocal about his feelings, always preferring rescues and little miracles and stares from over his glasses. But Aziraphale could feel it, so Crowley was covered.

Suddenly he realized that if Aziraphale can sense his love, he must sense it as something. It must take the form of _something_ to him. What if his love was like a serpent, tightening itself around Aziraphale until he couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. Or a pair of yellow eyes, always watching, always looking, never giving him a moment’s rest? The stuff of nightmares, his eyes were. In fact, they started the whole nightmare business. 

Before Crowley can circle faster around the sink drain of his mind, he remembered a marriage counseling show that he had watched a few minutes of as he waited to tempt a psychologist into having affairs with her patients. COMMUNICATE, it said. Well, Crowley was going to COMMUNICATE, but just enough to get some answers, certainly not enough to bare his soul or whatnot. He hasn’t got a soul, anyway. He thinks. Not totally sure, actually. Hmm….

“Um, Angel.” Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgment.

Crowley took a deep breath and sort of expelled “So, my love, right? Erm, how does it appear to you? What’s it seem like to you? ‘S not some great big yellow eyes or anything?”

Aziraphale turned towards him and frowned in tense surprise. “Great big yellow eyes? No, my dear boy, not at all.”

Crowley sighed, a little huff of relief escaping past his lips.

“What’s it like, then?” Crowley asked, very casually. 

“Oh, I don’t know, dear. It’s hard to describe. It doesn't _seem_ like anything, you see.”

Crowley shifted a little, to better gaze up at his angel. 

“What does it make you feel like then, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale smiled down at Crowley, very bright and very fond. 

“Oh,” he started. “Well, I suppose it's sort of like, um, a lovely hug from behind. Or more like an excellent cup of hot cocoa that just makes me all warm inside.”

Crowley grinned up at him. “A cup of hot cocoa. Everything’s food with you, huh?” he teased. 

Aziraphale was pursing his lips to hide his smile when his eyes suddenly turned almost unbearingly gentle.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, Crowley, I think that it’s rather like a favored coat, one that fits perfectly and makes you feel so warm and safe.”

Aziraphale reached down to gently run his fingers through a red mane of hair, something that Crowley relaxed into with a soft hiss. 

After a moment, Crowley opened his eyes and pulled himself back together to lean up and kiss Aziraphale. He slowly slithered his way onto his Angel’s lap, kissing him sweetly all the while. There’s relief upon his lips, a thank-you as well. And a promise to repay him tenfold. 

“Anything,” he breathed, looking down at Aziraphale, “Anything you want.”

“You,” Aziraphale exhaled, sweet as the wind before it rains. 

“I think I can do that,” replied Crowley, a little cocky and a lot in love. 

Crowley smiles fondly at the memory, shifts closer to Aziraphale, and tries to stop thinking. It’s really much harder than it sounds, especially when you’re Crowley and random thoughts are constantly pinging around in your head. Speaking of pinging, Crowley’s considering making every game of online Ping Pong certain to be lost, to just generally promote ill will, but not on a large enough scale that anyone notices. Crowley might not be an official demon and all that, but eternity on Earth gets quite a bit boring when you haven’t got any mischief to, er, mischief. Is mischief a verb? Maybe mischieving? Oh, and that lovely musical...the one where London eats pies made of human flesh...ah yes! Sweeney Todd! Always been a favorite of Crowley’s. Yes, that beggar woman who’s actually poor Sweeney’s wife she’s always shrieking “Mischief! Mischief!” Crowley is now trying very hard to remember the exact inflection in the original cast recording, and he’s so close, so close, just goes a little more high pitched on the third “Mischief”-wait how many times does she say “Mischief!”?

This train of thought is effectively derailed by Aziraphale reaching down to play with Crowley’s hair. He’s developed quite the habit of playing with Crowley’s hair. Used to be the angel could read motionless for hours, not even blinking. Now he gets positively tetchy if Crowley isn’t there for him to caress-no Aziraphale doesn’t caress him. No one caresses the demon Crowley. No, he’s simply playing with Crowley a bit. That’s nice, being his Angel’s plaything. 

Crowley rests his head on a cushioned thigh and holds on even tighter to Aziraphale’s leg. Oh, the angel is so warm in his bed, he never thought it could be that warm. And the sheets, the sheets smell like him. They smell like his cologne, yes, but also like old books and chocolate and summer rain and preened feathers. 

Crowley breathes in deep and lets out a happy humming hiss. Aziraphale looks down at him and moves his hand to run his fingers over the demon’s snake tattoo. Crowley’s bones lose a little more of their realness as he relaxes under his touch.

Thanks to the steady brush of the angel’s fingers, he’s almost asleep. Crowley’s in that hazy in-between, just lazily waiting for sleep to come. One last thought comes to mind, but it’s a good thought, one of the best. Quietly he murmurs, “Thank you, Angel.” 

Aziraphale hums and asks “What for, my love?” 

Crowley smiles as he holds on tighter and responds “For letting me love you.” 

Aziraphale smiles fondly and says, “Oh dearest, I love you too.”

And then Crowley doesn’t do what he’s supposed to. He’s supposed to look up, grin, and lie adoringly to Aziraphale as he whispers, “I know, Angel.” But Crowley is almost asleep and not entirely sure he’s not already dreaming, and he doesn’t have his normal Aziraphale filters in place, and the words come unbidden to his tongue, and he’s saying them before he can think it through, and then (oh no, oh no) he says, “Nah, Angel. Not really.”

Aziraphale’s fingers still. Crowley is still trying to work through the last few seconds (all brain functions are at or below 50%) when Aziraphale slowly, gently, turns his face up to look the demon in the eye. Crowley looks up at Aziraphale and blinks. He blinks again, and when his eyes open this time, they are fully alert, his pupils wide and dark in fear. “I-I was just kidding.”

Aziraphale lets go of his face and closes own his eyes. Crowley uses that time to scramble off of him and onto the farthest corner of their bed. 

Aziraphale reopens his eyes to stare at him, and Crowley can almost see all his other eyes breaking through as he looks at him. Then Aziraphale puts down his book and turns to Crowley, who is frantically trying to think of explanations and coming up short. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale starts, “I love you.”

Crowley stares for a moment, then rolls his shoulders and mutters “Yeah, you love everything, Angel.”

Aziraphale responds, “Yes, darling, but not at all like I love you.”

Crowley shrugs casually, forcing his corporation back into the relaxed slough he’s known for. The demon has known that eventually, they were going to have this discussion because Crowley has abysmal impulse control. Let a thought ping around there long enough, and he’s going to open his stupid mouth and say it. Usually at an inopportune time. So, they’re having this conversation. Crowley will not cry, (as if he ever has, thank you very much,) and he will not muck this up worse than it already is. All he has to do is straighten Aziraphale out, explain he’s fine with it, and then he’ll go pick up some of those chocolates the angel loves so much. Maybe see a play, a Shakespeare, likely. 

He waves a hand and says “Nah, Angel. There’s some other stuff at play, like fondness and perhaps gratitude, but deep down, it’s the same.” 

Aziraphale stammers, “B-but, you can’t feel any of my love? I can feel all of yours, Crowley. You can’t feel mine _at all?_ ”

Crowley shrugs and says, “Nope. I told you that, Angel.”

Aziraphale looks down and murmurs, “Yes, well, I hoped that maybe you could, just a little.”

Crowley hears him, of course, and tries to cheer him up a bit by explaining, “Well, I can feel your lust, Angel. Definitely.” Crowley smiles, rather self-satisfied, as he remembers some of those occasions. 

Aziraphale blushes, but then gets a little “Ah-ha!” look in his eyes. Just starting to smile, Aziraphale points out, “See? I wouldn’t become intimate with you if I didn’t love you. I don’t just go and, um, _you know,_ with just anybody, darling.”

Crowley groans, “Ugh, just say it, Angel!” He rolls his eyes and patiently explains, “Aziraphale, you don’t have to love someone to have sex with them. And you’ve always been a bit of a hedonist, hmm?” Crowley leans back on the sofa as he elaborates, “So if you’d ever wanted to try a bit of fucking, well, you’d try it with me, the being who’s known you for 6,000 years. Your best friend.” Crowley smirks and adds, “Plus, my hips, Angel. Who can resist them?”

Aziraphale huffs. Then he exclaims, “What about when I told you I was in love with you, Crowley? I wasn’t lying, dearest, I’d never lie to you.”

Crowley smiles sadly and says, “Angel, you didn’t know you were lying. You just simply can’t be in love with _me_. I’m a demon. It’s just not possible. You’re a being of love, Azirahphale, so of course, you thought you were in love with me.” Crowley shakes his head and concludes, “It’s just not possible.”

Aziraphale starts to protest and cries out, “Of course it’s possible!”

Crowley stops him by leaning forward and explaining, “Angels aren’t supposed to love someone romantically or anything like that. Demons neither. But I’m not a very good demon, whereas you are a very good angel. Much better than any of the pricks in Heaven, eh? And since you’re such a perfect angel, you can’t love me like that.”

“But, Crowley,” Aziraphale argues, “Demons aren’t supposed to love, and you do. So why couldn’t I love when I’m not meant to?”

Crowley sighs and says, “Again, I’m not good at being a demon. But you’re very good at being an angel, so yes, you couldn’t love when you’re not meant to.”

The demon doesn't understand why Aziraphale’s face falls and the angel asks again, “You can’t feel my love?”

Crowley shakes his head.

“You never thought I loved you as you love me?”

Crowley shakes his head again.

Aziraphale stands up and whispers, “Never?”

Crowley clears his throat and shakes his head. 

Aziraphale starts pacing and wringing his hands as he stammers “But, but you always were, er, are, no, were” he turns to look at Crowley as he whispers, “Happy.”

Crowley rushes forward and takes the angel’s hands in his as he cries out, “Yes! I am happy, so happy, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale is still hurt, still reeling, Crowley can tell, he has to fix this, make it better, make the angel understand, so Crowley orders his mind to make sense and spit it out. 

“Angel, Angel. You don’t know, don’t understand. You are _everything_ to me, Aziraphale. I-I will take anything you give me, take it gladly and gratefully, and, and it’s more than I ever dreamed, more than I deserve.”

Aziraphale turns away from Crowley and starts to sob. “I’ve been so cruel, so c-cruel, to you Crowley,” the angel cries. “And y-you, you always came back.” He sobs harder. “And you thought I didn’t love you.”

Crowley doesn't know what to do, but some instinct has him moving towards Aziraphale. The angel whirls around to face him before he gets close.

“H-how could you have been happy thinking I didn’t love you?” Aziraphale’s face falls, every smile of his, every time his eyes lit up when he saw Crowley, it all crumbled into dust. 

“How could I have been happy when you thought I didn’t love you?” Aziraphale whispers, tears racing silently down his cheeks. 

Aziraphale falls to his knees. 

Crowley follows, pulling the angel into his arms, trying to soothe him with pats and abrupt rubs. 

Aziraphale pushes him away and Crowley falls to the floor, catching himself on his elbows. 

“Why can’t you let me hate myself in peace, damn it!” Aziraphale shouts. 

The angel stalks away from Crowley, into the center of the room. He’s facing away from the demon, but Crowley can see the tension in his stance. Aziraphale curls his fingers into fists as all the antique, tenderly-cared-for-lamps in the bookshop start to flicker.

Crowley’s never seen the angel like this before. The air smells of angelic power, and Crowley can see Aziraphale’s wings almost breaking through. 

It’s a terrible sight. It’s awe-inspiring, beautiful, and horrible all in one. 

Crowley tenses, fight-or-flight battling with his instinct to calm Aziraphale and stop him from hurting the bookshop he loves so much. His love for Aziraphale wins when he hears wet, rattling sobs resounding throughout the bookshop. All the light bulbs shatter as Crowley runs towards Aziraphale. 

All the glass shards falling to the floor sound a bit like rain as Crowley timidly puts his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. It smells like sharp thunder and wet feathers. 

The angel doesn’t respond to Crowley’s hand, so he shifts closer to tenderly whisper, “Shh, it’s okay, Angel, shh, it’s alright.”

Crowley is startled when Aziraphale shouts, “Crowley!” and whirls around to face him. The angel looks so broken, bright blue eyes shining with tears that threaten to join their brethren on his face. His lower lip wobbles as he makes eye contact with Crowley, who is frantically trying to think of a way to make this better, trying to think of anything he can do. Aziraphale mumbles, defeated and lost, “Crowley.”

The demon starts to move toward Aziraphale but the angel rushes at him, tackling Crowley to the ground. Miraculously, an assortment of pillows appears just before Crowley lands with a muffled thud. Aziraphale ravenously starts touching Crowley, touching him like he’s trying to memorize every inch. 

Crowley chokes out, “Wh-what?” before Aziraphale kisses him. It’s a different kiss, nothing like Crowley’s ever experienced. It’s wet and salty and chaste.

Crowley is just about to tangle his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair when the angel pulls away. He looks down at Crowley, and his voice breaks when he asks, “Do you believe I love you now?”

Crowley stammers out the truth before he can stop himself. “I-I don’t know.”

He quickly adds, “I want to, Angel. I really do, but, uh, it’s a lot.”

Aziraphale pulls him up from the floor, supporting Crowley, who is too confused and stressed and overwhelmed to do it himself. The angel holds him, one arm around his waist pulling him close, the other in his hair, cradling his skull. His wings burst out, trembling a little as they curl around Crowley. 

“Darling,” Aziraphale whispers, in this space of just Aziraphale, “Can I, can I try to show you how I love you? Please, can I start to make it up to you?”

Crowley dazedly protests, “Nuh, Angel, you don’t have to do anything, it’s all good.”

“No, it is not, Crowley. It’s not good at all.”

Crowley stares at this angel before him, with bits of broken glass in his hair and tear streaks along his face. Crowley manages to snap his fingers, and the glass disappears. That doesn’t solve the problem of the angel who is standing so close, asking Crowley to allow him to give the demon everything he’s ever wanted.

Crowley breathes in deep the smell of tears like briny rain, the smell of the feathers that are tender and warm against his skin, and the smell of Aziraphale: books and delicacies and underneath it all, a little bit of lightning. 

He swallows and whispers, “Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And now, my dear readers, I reach out to you with cramping fingers and heavily caffeinated eyes to ask for help. All my friends have rudely refused to become completely obsessed with Good Omens, and I could use some ideas to finish up Chapter 2. So, if you have absolutely any ideas for something that could happen, please comment! Also comment for literally any reason because I just really like comments :)
> 
> If you think more tags should be added, please let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really bad at POV, but this is mostly from Aziraphale's point of view and a bit from Crowley. There's some smut, but it's not super graphic or anything. Anyway, enjoy!

Aziraphale breathes in deep against Crowley’s neck and then exhales. Crowley shudders slightly from the sensation.

“Can I carry you to the bed, dearest?” Aziraphale asks, his lips soft on Crowley’s jaw.

Crowley nods quickly, and before Aziraphale can do something like picking him up bridal-style, (not enough contact, that wouldn’t do at all) Crowley jumps up lightly and twines himself around the angel. Slender legs tighten around Aziraphale, delicate ankles latching together against his lower back. Crowley tucks his head around his angel’s like a swan quietly confessing his love as two unnecessary heartbeats pulse together. A trembling breath stirs a few blond curls as Aziraphale makes his way upstairs. 

When they reach the bed, Aziraphale leans down slightly to let Crowley drop onto the bedspread, but the demon just holds on tighter. Aziraphale softly kisses his shoulder and Crowley lets go, unfolding himself onto the covers. Aziraphale follows, murmuring, "Like a sunflower you are, eyes so yellow, beautiful, my love.”

Crowley blushes sweetly and turns his head to hide it. 

“No,” Aziraphale breathes, transfixed by this soft demon in their bed. “Come back to me.”

Crowley turns back and is met with a quick kiss on the nose. Despite himself, Crowley grins, his eyes golden pools of adoration for Aziraphale, only for Aziraphale. 

Crowley is lost in Aziraphale’s answering smile, lost too in this haze of happiness. Aziraphale’s wings are unfurled behind him, gleaming pale gold in the afternoon light. It smells like spring rain, like feathers you can lay a weary head to rest on, like the little sparkling bolts of angelic Grace that Crowley can see glinting on Aziraphale. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispers, “This, it’s real? I’m not dreaming?”

Aziraphale kisses away his doubts and curls his hands more tightly around him. 

“Angel,” Crowley gasps, “It’s true? You mean it?”

Aziraphale murmurs, “Every word, every last one.”

Aziraphale pulls back a little, regret and sorrow mixing with the devotion in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything, Crowley, I-”

Crowley leans up to quiet him with a kiss, whispering against his lips, “It’s okay, Angel. I forgive you, of course, I do.”

The angel’s wings tremble, but Aziraphale’s hands are firm as they wander Crowley’s skin. He pulls Crowley up to take off his jacket, feels him relaxed against him when he slips his charcoal shirt past his head. Aziraphale lowers him back down and kneels next to him, his lips kissing out messages that are softly burnt onto sweet skin. _I love you,_ says one. _Mine,_ says a second. _Yours,_ says a third. 

There’s a map on the demon’s skin, a map of freckles like stars, like constellations. 

“Starmaker,” Aziraphale breathes.

Crowley shudders beneath him. 

“Starmaker,” Aziraphale murmurs. “Do you remember, dear, that night you got abysmally drunk and pointed out all the stars you made?”

Crowley closes his eyes as he nods briefly. 

“I visited those stars, later, when I was lonely without you. They were beautiful, my love, the most beautiful stars in the sky.”

Aziraphale kisses a salty cluster of freckles on Crowley’s shoulder.

“But not as beautiful as you.”

Crowley inhales sharply and wonders if he can discorporate from the _feelings_ he’s having. 

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s slightly parted mouth as an invitation and kisses him until Crowley believes he might already have discorporated. 

“Your hair, darling. Oh, your hair.” Aziraphale’s wings come forward to curl possessively around them as he continues. “I think my favorite style was the long and unruly one, like in Eden. But it always looked amazing, always tempted me to run my fingers through it.”

Crowley stops staring dazedly up at Aziraphale and concentrates, snaps his fingers, and suddenly his hair is spread wide across the bed, fanning out behind him like a halo. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale says. He swallows. “You, you didn’t have to do that.”

Crowley grins and responds, “Nah, Angel. Been wanting to do that for a while, just didn’t want to seem, uh, presumptuous.”

Aziraphale worriedly reassures him, “You can always be a bit presumptuous with me, dear. Always.” He gives himself a little shake and begins to run his fingers through scarlet strands. 

“My love, my Crowley,” he murmurs, watching his fingers sift and shift through almost vermillion hair. “Every so often a breeze would blow the right way and I’d smell a hint of smoke and cinnamon and soil and I’d long to hold you in my arms and breathe my fill.” 

Crowley reaches for Aziraphale’s coat with shaking hands and Aziraphale hums in quiet satisfaction. The angel leans forward so that spindly fingers can grasp his lapels, then keeps going to bury his face in the side of Crowley’s neck. He inhales shakily, his hands tightening on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Better than I ever imagined,” he whispers. 

Aziraphale lies down next to Crowley, still in that warm little cave of throat and hair, getting himself back together and occasionally pressing a kiss to his demon’s neck. He gently brushes some hair out of the way to whisper in Crowley’s ear. 

“You are the best thing She ever created, much better than me. You were kind to an angel in a garden, and you never stopped being the sweetest, gentlest, nicest being I’ve ever met.”

Crowley trembles against him, fingers twitching as they try to find something to hold on to. Noticing this, the angel reaches down to hold his hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss. He watches Crowley’s profile, his flaring nostrils and blown pupils evident in the light. He looks thoroughly debauched, a far cry from the demon who frowns and saunters and drives too fast. This demon looks as he should, practically drowning in Aziraphale’s love for him. 

Crowley closes his eyes and Aziraphale watches the movement in his throat as he swallows. Weakly, the demon parts his lips and whispers, “Mercy.”

Aziraphale freezes before gathering Crowley into his arms and lying back down so that the demon is sprawled across the angel’s chest. 

“Anything,” Aziraphale rumbles, “Anything you want.”

Crowley nuzzles closer and whispers, “D-don’t stop. Just give me a minute.”

Aziraphale hums in agreement as his hands come up to rub soothing circles on the demon’s back. After a few minutes of soft words and tender wandering hands, Crowley shifts atop the angel and whines, “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiles and murmurs, “Yes, darling?”

“Guh,” Crowley starts before swallowing and trying again. “Can, can I-I, uh, umm.”

The angel quirks an eyebrow and watches in amused gentleness how Crowley blushes and hides his face in Aziraphale’s shirt. The demon groans, then pulls himself together to hesitantly rut against Aziraphale’s leg. Aziraphale chuckles fondly when Crowley looks up, adorably apprehensive. The angel says, “Of course, Crowley. _Anything._ ”

Crowley shyly looks up at his angel and asks, “Can you, uh, keep telling me that stuff? Tell me how good I am?”

Aziraphale coos softly, “Oh, you liked that, darling?”

Crowley’s blush spreads down to his chest and up to the tips of his ears, but he whispers “Yes” before ducking his head back down. 

Aziraphale thinks _no, that won’t do at all_ before he grabs Crowley and brings him up so they’re face to face. He’s about to apologize for manhandling the demon when he sees Crowley look at him with pupils blown significantly more than they were a second ago. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Crowley, my dear boy. My good boy, yes. My very good boy.” Crowley shifts and squirms atop him as Aziraphale murmurs, “Good for me, aren’t you? Just for me, only for me.”

Crowley hazily agrees, “J-just for you, Angel,” before Aziraphale tilts his head to kiss his demon sweetly on the forehead. He snaps his fingers, and Miracles some pillows behind him so he can sit up comfortably. It’s a testament to Crowley’s state that he didn’t do that himself. 

Aziraphale smiles, bright and a little hungry, as he says, “Well then, darling. Go on.”

Crowley jerkily slithers down to his previous position and bites his lip, looking back at the angel with something strange in his eyes. Aziraphale stares for a moment, before leaning over the demon and reaching down to grab his hips tightly. The angel wets his lips nervously. Crowley’s eyes track the movement, and then he pushes himself back into Aziraphale’s grip a little. 

Aziraphale pushes Crowley down onto his thigh, moderately, his eyes intent on Crowley’s reaction. The demon sighs, his eyes becoming a little more unfocused, although they focus right back on Aziraphale when the angel does it again, much harder.

Aziraphale can practically see all of Crowley’s breath leaving, but the demon shakily recovers to whisper, “Angel.” Aziraphale relaxes and leans back against the pillows. “Sweetling,” he agrees. Crowley hisses, although his authority is greatly challenged when he starts rutting again. 

Crowley feels like a desperate teenager humping in the backseat, and can’t bring himself to care enough to stop. Aziraphale is still fully dressed, and Crowley’s only undressed from the waist up. But everything fades away as he loses himself in the pleasure that’s seeping into his very bones. Aziraphale keeps telling him sweet, sharp nothings that have Crowley longing for the next before he’s done wincing from the previous one. 

Everything crescendos up and up until Crowley can’t imagine it could go higher. He looks at Aziraphale and begs. He isn’t sure what for, but he knows the angel can give it to him. “Please,” he cries. “Please, a-angel, please.”

Aziraphale lazily reaches down to possessively grab Crowley’s chin. “Look at me,” he orders. Crowley does, hips stuttering just a little. “I love you.”

Crowley groans and lets himself go, writhing and twitching like a fish out of water. 

When he opens his eyes he feels the angel curled tightly around him. 

They’ve cuddled a little before, sometimes held hands as Crowley fell asleep. But never has the angel tucked his knees up behind Crowley’s and held him tight as a prayer. The angel keeps shifting too, seemingly trying to find the perfect position. He reaches under and around to grasp their fingers together, melting against Crowley as he sighs in satisfaction. 

Crowley sinks into the bed, twisting his fingers tightly around Aziraphale’s. The angel carefully moves some of Crowley’s long hair out of the way to lightly kiss his neck. He smiles against Crowley’s skins, and murmurs into his ear, “Hello, Crowley.”

Crowley shifts and slides to turn himself around so he can look up at his angel and curl himself tighter against him. He nuzzles into Aziraphale’s chest, the angel’s socked feet warm against his calves. 

They stay there, breathing quietly in unison. After a few perfect, sleepy hours, Aziraphale gently untangles himself. Crowley blinks up at him, but Aziraphale simply slips off the bed to kneel on the floor. Crowley follows, confusedly chasing after him, but Aziraphale stops him with warm hands on his knees when the demon is sitting off the edge of the bed. Aziraphale looks up at him and quietly asks, “Will you marry me?”

Crowley gapes at him as the angel starts nervously rambling, “Not in a church, of course, wouldn’t want to hurt your feet, but I thought maybe we could exchange some rings and forge some legal documents, and then I could call you my husband, or wife, and maybe we could go find a little cottage somewhere quiet for our honeymoon and are you alright, Crowley?”

“F-forgery?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale looks confused for a second, then says, “Yes, but that’s not important right now. Um, what do you, what do you say?”

“No.” Crowley gulps. “No, you can’t do that.”

Aziraphale stands up. “No, you won’t marry me, or no, you don’t think I can ask?”

Crowley looks up, lost, and tries to explain. “Of course, I’d marry you, I want to, but angels can’t marry demons!” He shakes his head and stands up as well, to start pacing around their bedroom. 

“You haven’t fallen yet, yes? Well don’t you think _marrying a demon_ might do the bloody trick?!”

Aziraphale clasps his hands and starts, “Crowley, if God didn’t make me Fall from loving you, then-”

“Exactly!” Crowley shouts, interrupting the angel. “She didn’t! She gave us a pass! Someone’s sake, Aziraphale, _we can’t risk it!!_ ”

Crowley continues pacing as he says, “Besides, I-I never even considered it as an option! You can’t just marry me! ‘M a fucking _demon_ , Aziraphale! It can’t happen!!”

During this, Aziraphale had been trying to find a spot to get a word in, but occult beings who don’t need to breathe are very hard to politely interrupt. Finally, he shouts, “Crowley!!”

He takes a deep breath and says, “Crowley, I am an Angel of God. She clearly is perfectly fine with us loving each other, so,” Crowley opens his mouth as if about to speak, “SO, I can marry you and I won’t Fall!”

Crowley shuts his mouth. He glares at the angel but does not interrupt again. Aziraphale softens and asks, “Crowley, will you marry me?”

The demon stares unbelievingly at his angel. Love and determination color his eyes a brilliant blue as he stands straight like the Guardian of the Eastern Gate should. 

_Maybe,_ the demon thinks. _Maybe, Angel._

“A-are you sure, Aziraphale?” 

The angel’s eyes flash dangerously as he growls, “Yes, Crowley. For God’s sake, _I’m sure_.”

Crowley lifts his hands in surrender as he edges towards the wall. “Okay, okay, just, uh checking.”

The demon clears his throat. He looks at Aziraphale for a long second before shaking his head a little and happily shouting, “Of course, Angel. What are you, daft? Yes!!”

Aziraphale calms down and mutters, “Oh, well that’s all right then.” He looks up. Hesitantly, he moves forward. “Crowley?” he asks. 

Crowley sighs, absolutely besotted. “You don’t have to ask,” he confesses, his smile carefree and innocent in its joy.

Aziraphale sees the words write themselves across the air behind Crowley, golden as his eyes.

_Yours. Anything from me, anything of me. Yours._

Aziraphale had started seeing these unknowing declarations of love a few hundred years ago and proceeded to cough politely and turn away until about 80 years ago. He thinks it's some sort of mutation, from a demon loving an angel. Crowley doesn't know about it, and Aziraphale will keep it that way. He’s scared the demon will stop. 

These words, written in Crowley’s own hand, have increased dramatically from the time of the Anti-Christ. 

When Aziraphale was Brother Francis and Crowley was the unfairly attractive Nanny Ashtoreth, Aziraphale had read _Touch me like that, Angel,_ shimmering in the air behind Nanny when he glanced at her. There was the smallest, saddest smile on Crowley’s face as she watched Aziraphale gardening, cooing at the roses and gently caressing every petal.

Or in the wreckage of a church, where Aziraphale’s box of books sat completely unharmed, he had read _Only for you_ when he had called the demon “kind.”

Or in a parking lot, holding a flaming sword and making a threat that the angel knew he could never execute, he had read _ANYTHING BUT THAT_ in Crowley’s scrawl, the words frantic and hurried.

Or the morning after they got Together, when Aziraphale sat in a chair, drinking his morning hot chocolate as he watched his demon blearily open his eyes in the angel’s bed, he had read _Never thought I would see this,_ written almost furtively in the air. 

And now, in this happy moment, Aziraphale could walk forward and kiss Crowley senseless. He could Miracle a ring for him, and kiss his finger as he put it on. He could pull Crowley into the bed and refuse to leave it for years. He could do any of these things, maybe all of them, but he has to do something first. 

If Crowley can’t feel his love, Aziraphale will show him the human way. He will write poems about his smile, songs about his kisses, and tell him he loves him every time he opens his eyes. He’ll bring him plants, the most beautiful plants he can find. 

He’ll find a little cottage by the sea, with a garden for Crowley, and he’ll make sure the cottage is always warm enough for his serpent. He will find the best bed in the world, and he will watch over his demon as he sleeps. Aziraphale will hold him when he cries, when he laughs, when he asks, or when his eyes do it for him. 

But first, he has to do this. 

Aziraphale walks towards Crowley and tells his demon, “Yours. Anything from me, anything of me. Yours.”

Crowley’s smile falters as some other emotion tears out of him. It looks a little like fear, a little like wonder, and a lot like love. He reaches for his angel, and Aziraphale rushes at him, causing Crowley to stumble backward until he meets the wall. Wisely, he stays leaned against it as they hug tightly. Both of them are grinning madly, thoughts of rings and wedding cakes and scaring waiters with righteous possessiveness dancing through their heads. 

After a few minutes, Aziraphale coughs lightly. “You know, darling, when I thought about me proposing to you, I imagined less...yelling.”

“Mmm,” Crowley hums into Aziraphale’s hair. “Sorry.”

Epilogue

It’s cold in the bookshop when Aziraphale is doing inventory. Crowley shifts on the sofa, but, unable to find a good position, he gets up and sidles over to Aziraphale. 

“Hey, Angel,” he murmurs, standing very close behind Aziraphale. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says in acknowledgment 

“Can I kiss you?” Crowley whispers into the whorl of Aziraphale’s ear. 

“No, love, I’m busy,” Aziraphale mutters distractedly.

“Please?” Crowley whines. “It’ll be very good, I’ll be dashing like those men in the romance novels you read.”

Aziraphale turns around, quite affronted. “I do not read those books,” he huffs. 

“Sure, Angel.” Crowley grins and waves a hand dismissively. “But I can lean you possessively against the wall,” Crowley crowds Aziraphale against the wall, one hand curled around the angel’s waist. “Like this, and then you can gasp so sweetly against my lips as I steal your breath away.”

Crowley lets go of Aziraphale and steps backward, snapping his fingers. Suddenly he’s wearing a half-unbuttoned white blouse and his hair is long and appropriately tousled. There is no need to change his pants since those black trousers were already plenty tight. 

Crowley plants his foot on a nearby stool and summons a breeze to blow gently through his hair. 

He turns back to Aziraphale and smirks. “Look familiar?”

Aziraphale blushes lightly, but regains his composure to protest, “I assure you, I’ve never seen anything of the sort.”

Crowley’s grin sharpens as he snaps his fingers and a stack of books appear on a table next to Aziraphale. Clearly seen on the cover is a redheaded man in the exact same position, but with a busty blond swooning across his chest. 

Balanced accusingly on top is one of Aziraphale’s many pairs of reading glasses. 

The angel blushes furiously before stammering out, “Y-you did that! I-I would _never_ -” he trails off as Crowley stalks towards him. 

“Naughty angel,” he purrs. “Very naughty, telling a lie to your husband like that.”

Aziraphale gulps and looks for a way out, but Crowley is already in front of him, tilting the angel’s chin up with a single finger. 

“Now,” the demon says, “your protests have been denied due to factual evidence and my own overwhelming sex appeal.”

“So,” he murmurs as he leans forward, clasping his hands behind his back and giving the appearance of a bird doing a courting dance. “A kiss.”

Aziraphale makes one last effort and whines “ _Crowley,_ I’m doing inventory!”

Crowley takes a step back to consider the angel. 

“Hmm,” he contemplates. “Isn’t my musk overpowering all thoughts of work and decency and whatnot?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Good Lord, Crowley. You don’t have a musk!”

“What?” gasps Crowley, shocked. “But the wind is blowing it seductively in your direction!”

Aziraphale sidesteps, hoping to get around Crowley but the demon blocks him. 

“Can’t you smell the lusssst, Asssiraphale?” he hisses. 

“No, darling. I’m not a snake.”

“Hmph,” says Crowley. “Shame, that.”

“Well then,” he continues, “I suppose my glistening bare chest, wild mane of hair, and large, lithe hands will make you lose your senses in three, two, one….”

Aziraphale looks unimpressed and comments, “No one describes hands as lithe, dear.”

Crowley ignores this and saunters over to stand in front of the angel. 

He begins narrating, using a breathy falsetto voice, “He was so close to me, and so devilishly warm. His eyes shone with desperate fire, but his fingers were gentle as they twined themselves in my hair.”

Crowley makes the whole experience interactive by gently running his fingers through the angel’s curls as he looms over him. He continues, “Oh, I thought, what sort of dreadful debauchery will he tempt me to? But all such thoughts fled like my virtue when his lips brushed mine.”

Crowley ducks his head and gently kisses Aziraphale, who closes his eyes. The demon pulls back an inch.

“Now is when you gasp so sweetly against my lips, Angel.”

Aziraphale shoves Crowley off of him, but the demon quickly catches his balance, cackling all the while. 

“Your face, Angel,” he wheezes. “Oh, it was _beautiful_!”

Aziraphale straightens his waistcoat and huffs. “Crowley,” he warns. The demon continues laughing, now doing on-point impressions of Aziraphale. Quite fed up, the angel reaches out a hand and slams him against the wall.

Crowley stops laughing, but can’t seem to stop smiling as he smirks, “Getting frisky, huh?”

Aziraphale relaxes his grip on the demon’s shoulders, unable to stay angry in the face of such open merriment. 

“I love you very much,” the angel says, unable to think of anything else to say. 

Crowley’s smile falters for a moment before it returns much brighter when Crowley brings their foreheads together. They stay like that in happy companionable silence for a few moments, before the demon clears his throat. 

“You know,” he says, conversationally, “why don’t you show me exactly how much you love me, huh, Angel?”

Aziraphale smiles sweetly, his fingers hovering over Crowley’s hips. 

“Well,” the angel murmurs, “Since you asked so nicely…”

Crowley protests, “What?! I didn’t ask _nicely,_ I was tempting you to sin and whatnot!”

Aziraphale just smiles and says “Oh, just give me a few minutes and you’ll be practically begging for me to tell you how nice you are.”

“Low blow, Asssiraphale,” Crowley hisses. “Stop being such a perfect bastard and kiss me already!”

Any further complaints were silenced effectively by Aziraphale kissing him senseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...did you like it? Hopefully you did! If so, please leave a comment! Or if you thought it could be better, please leave a comment as well. Special thanks to everyone who commented on the first chapter!
> 
> Also, how did I do with Aziraphale and his point of view? I'm always nervous about writing him, so I'd love some feedback!
> 
> Of course, if you think I missed some tags (a very likely possibility) please let me know!


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